1REASUR    ROOM 


COL.  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  FLOWERS 
MEMORIAL  COLLECTION 


DUKE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
DURHAM,  N.  C. 


PRESENTED  BY 

W.  W.  FLOWERS 


WEE     DAYIE 


EV 


NORMAN   MACLEOD,  D.  D., 


ONE    OK    Hi  V'S    CnAPLAINS 

AVTIIuR   OF    "THE    OLD    LIEUTENANT    AND    HIS    SON," 
"  THE    EAilMCbT    BTOl 


JFrotn  i"b c  ©fotttt$-jer*fctttt!)  5.onbon  3EMiiotr. 


EICHMOXD,     V  A  : 

PRISBYTERIAN  COMMITTEE  Or    PUBLICATION, 

1861 


WEE     JDAV1E. 


GHAPTEB  L 

"Wee  Davie"  was  the  only  child  of  William 
Thorburn,  blacksmith.  He  bad  reached  the  age  at 
which  he  could  venture,  with  prudence  and  reflection, 
on  a  journey  from  one  chair  to  another;  his  wits  kept 
alive  by  maternal  warnings  of  "take  care,  Davie; 
mind  the  lire,  Davie."'  When  the  journey  was 
fety,  and  he  looked  over  his  shoulders  with 
a  crow  of  joy  to  his  mother,  lie  was  rewarded,  in 
addition  to  the  rewards  of  his  own  brave  and 
adventurous  spirit,  by  such  a  smile  as  equalled  only 
his  own,  and  by  the  well-merited  approval  of  "  i 
done.  ]>;i\  ie  ! :' 

the  mosl  powerful  and  influential  mem- 
ber' of  ike  household.  Neither  the  British  fleet,  nor 
the  French  army,  nor  the  Armstrong  gun,  had  the 
power  of  doing  what  Davie  did.     They  m  well 

have  tried  to  make  a  primrose  grow  or  a  lark  e 


4012 


w  i:  e     i>  a  v  i  e 


>r   example,   a    wonderful    stimulus   to 

tther  <:: 
rrival.  ,  his 

have  done,  and 
was  apt  to  neglect   many  opportunities,  which   off 
tm':  ii  :    and   Jeanie 

was  easily  put  off  by  some  plausible  objection   when 
she  urged  her  husband  to  make  mi   additional  hoi 
penny  to  keep  the  house.     But  "the  bairn"  became 
a  new  motive  to  exertion;  and  the  thought  of  leaving 
him  and   Jeanie   more   comfortable,  in   case   sicki 
laid  the  s/ or  death  took' him   away,  became 

like  a  new  sinew  to  his  powerful  arm,  as  he  wielded 
the  hammer,  and  made  it  ring  the  music  of  hearty 
work  on  th<  anvil.      The  meaning  of  benefit 

clu]  and     penny    banks,    was    fully 

explained  by   "Wee  Davie. 

Davie  also  exercised  a  remarkable  influence  on  his 
father's  political  views  and  social  habits.  The  smith 
had  been  fond  of  debates  on  political  que,-,  ;  and 
no  '  owl  of  di  content  than    his  could 

be  hear  -t   « the  powers  that  be/'  the   injustice 

done  to  the  masses,  or  the  misery  which  was  occasioned 
by  class  legislation.  He  had  also  made  up  his  mind 
not  <"  -:  or  contented,  but  only  to  endure  life 

as  a  necessity  laid  upon  him,  until  the  required  reforms 
in  church  and   slate,  at  home  and  abroad,  had   b 
attained.     But  his  wife,  without  uttering  a,  syllable  on 
matters  which  she  did  not  even  pretend  to  understand  ; 


WIEDAVII  5 

by  a  series  of  acts  oat  of  Parliament;  by-  reforms  in 
household  arrangements;  by  introducing  good  bills 
into  her  own  House  of  Commons ;  and  by  a  charter, 
whose  points  were  chiefly  very  commonplace  ones, — 

h    as    a    comfortable    meal,  a    tidy  home,  i 
fireside,  a  polished  gra.  e  all,  a  cheerful  counte- 

nance and  womanly  love, — by  the  cd  chan 

she  had  made  her  husband  wonderfully  fond  of  his 
home.      He   was.  under   ti  .  erv 

day  too  contented  for  a  patriot,  and  too  happy  for  a 
man  in  an  ill-governed  world.  His  old  companions  at 
last  could  not  coax  him  out  at  night.  He  was  lost  as 
a  member  of  one  of  the  most  philosophical  clubs  in 
the  neighborhood.  "His  old  pluck."  they 
'my  s."       The    wife,    it    was    alleged    by    the 

patriotic  ba<  .  had    "cowed"    him,  and   driven 

all  the  spirit  out  of  him.     But    "Wee  Davie"    •  ■■ 
pleted  this  revol  t  shall  tell  you  hoi 

One    failing    of    William's     had     hitherto    r 
Jeanie's  sil  d  '      i  smith  had  fori 

habi  •  he  was  marrie  I.  of   1  : 

in  a  fri  . 
a  pul  It  is  true  that  he  "  what 

might  1  I  a  drunkard — "    "never  lost   a   d 

•k — "     ' 
But,  neverthel 
r  Wilson1 
comfortable  atm  ith  half- 

,  and.  to  hin:.  pleasant  felloe  -  an  .  na- 

P34G12 


6  WEE      D1TII, 

panions,  he  sat  round  the  fire,  and  the  glass  circulated ; 
and  the  gossip  of    the  week  was  discussed  ;    and  racy 
stories  were  told  :  and  one  or  two  songs  sung,  linked 
together  by  memories   of   old   merry-meetings;    and 
current    joke-    were    repeated,,  with    humor,    of    the 
tyrannical  influence  which   Borne   would  presume   to 
exercise    on     "innocent,   social   enjoyment — "    then 
would  the  smith's  brawny  chest  expand,  and  his  face 
beam,  and  his  feelings  become  malleable,  and   his  six- 
pences begin  to  melt,  and  flow  out  in  generous  sympathy 
into  Peter  Wilson's  fozy  hand,  to  be  counted  greedily 
beneath  his  sodden  eyes.      And  so  it  was  that  the 
smith's  wages  were  always  lessened  by  Peter's  gains. 
His  wife  had  her  fears — her  horrid  anticipations — but 
did  not  like  to  tell  "  even  to"    her  husband  anything 
so  dreadful  as  what  she,  in   her  heart,  dreaded.     She 
took  her  own  way,  however,  to  win  him  to  the  house 
and  to  good,  and  gently  insinuated  wishes  rather  than 
expressed  them.      The  smith,  no  doubt,  she  comforted 
herself  by  thinking,  was  only    "merry,"    and    never 
ill-tempered  or    unkind,  —  "yet    at    times — "      "and 
then,  what  if—!"     Yes,  Jeanie,  you  are  right !     The 
demon  sneaks  into  the    house  by  degrees,  and   at  first 
may  be  kept  out,  and  the    door  shut    upon  him;     but 
let  him  only  mice  take  possession,  then   he   will   k 
it,  and  shut  the  door  against  everything  pure,  lovely, 
and  of    good    report, — barring    it    against   thee    and 
"Wee  Davie,"  ay,  and  against  One    who    is    best  of 
all, — and  will  fill  the  lior.se  with  sin  and   shame,  with 
misery  and  despair !     But    "  Wee  Davie,"    with    his 


WEED&VIE.  / 

arm  of   might,  drove  the  demon    out.     It   happened 

thus:— ■ 

One  evening  when  tho  smith  returned  home  so  thai 

"you  could  know  it  on  liin;.'1   Davie  toddled  forward; 

and  his  father,  lifting  him  up,  made  him  stand  on  his 

knee.     The  child  began  to  play  with  the  locks  of   the 

Samson,  to  pat  him  on  the  cheeky  and   to  repeat   with 

glee  the  name  of  "dad-a."     The  smith  gazed  on  him 

intently,  and  with  a   peculiar    look    of    love,  mingled 

with    sadness.       "Isn't  he  a  bonnie  bairn?"    asked 

Jeanie,  as  she  looked  over  her  husband's  shoulder    at 

the  child,  nodding  and  smiling  to    him.       The   smith 

spoke  not  a  word,  but  gazed   intently  upon   his   boy, 

•while  some  sudden   emotion, was   strongly  working   in 

ountenanoe. 

"It's  done!"  heat  last,  said,  as  he   put   his.  child 
n. 

"What's  wrang!  what's  wrang!"  exclaimed  his 
wife  as  she  stood  before  him,  and  put  her  hands  round 
his  shoulders,  bending  down  until  her  face  was  close 
to  his. 

Everything  is  wrang.  Je 
"  Willy,  what  is't  ?  are  ye  no  weel? — tell  me  what's 
wV  you? — oh,    tell   me!"    she  exclaimed,  in 
nt  alarm. 

a'  richt  noo,"  he  said,  rising  up  and   seizing 
child.     He  lifted  him   to  his   breast,   and   kis 
him.     Then  looking  up  in  .  he  said.     •'  ! l 

l    Jeanie.      Thank    God,   L 
am  a  iY<  e  man  l" 


8  Wl'8      DAT'Ili 

His  wife  felt  awed;  she  knew  not  ho  v.-. 

"  Sit  do  ■  I  out  his    handker- 

chief, and  wiped  away  a  tear  from  his  eye,  "  and  I'll 
tell  you  ft,5  aboot  it." 

Jennie  Bat  on  a  stool  at  his  feet,  with  Davie  on  her 
knee.  The  .smith  seized  the  child's  little  hand  in  one 
of  his  own,  and  with  the  other  took  his  wife's., 

"  I  hav'na  been  what  ye  niay  ea'  a  drunkard,"  he 
said,  slowly,  and  like  a  man  abashed,  "but  I  hae 
been  often  as  I  shouldna  hae  been,  and  as,  wi'  God's 
help,  I  never,  never  will  be  again!  " 

' '  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Jeanie. 

"Let   me    speak,"     said   William;      "to    think,. 
Jeanie, — "  here  he  struggled    as    if    something    was 
choking  him,  —  "to    think    that    for   whiskey  I  might 
beggar  you  and  Wee    Davie;    tak    the  elaes  aflf  your 
back,:    drr  to  the    work-house;    break    your 

heart;  and  ruin  my  bonnie  bairn,  that  loves  me  sue 
weel ;  ay,  ruin  him  in  saul  and  body,  for  time  and 
for  eternity  !  God  forgie  me!  I  canna  stand  the 
thocht  o't,  let  alane  the  reality!"  The  strong  man 
rose,  and  little  accustomed  as  he  was  to  show  his 
feelings,  he  kissed  his  wife  and  child. 

"  It's  clone,  it's  clone  !  "  he  said  ;  "as  I'm  a  leevan 
man,  it's  done  !  But  clinna  greet,  Jeanie.  Thank 
God  for  you  and  Davie,  my  ben  ings." 

"  Exc<  pt  Himsel' !  "   said  Jeanie,  as    she  hung    on 
her  husband's  neck. 
.    "And   noo,    woman,"     replied  the  smith,     "  nae 


WEE       DAVIE 


mair  about  it;  it's  done.  Gie  Wee  Davie  a  piece, 
and  get  the  .supper  ready." 

"Wee  Davie"  was  also  a  great  promoter  of  social 
intercourse;  an  unconscious  link  between  man  ami 
man;  and  a  great  practical  "unionist."  He  healed 
breaches,  reconciled  differences,  and  was  a  peacemaker 
between  kinsfolk  and  neighbors.  For  example: 
Jeanie's  parents  were  rather  opposed  to  her  marriage 
with  the  smith.  Some  said  it  was .  because  they  be- 
longed  to  the  rural  aristocracy  of  country  farmers. 
They  regretted,  therefore,  it  was  alleged — though 
their  regret'  ;  pressed    only  to   old    friends— the 

day  when  the  lame  condition  of  one  of  their  horses 
had  brought  Thorburn  to  visit  their  stable,  and  ulti- 
mately their  hou  Thorburn,  no  doubt,  was 
admitted  to  be  a  sensible,  well-to-do  man  ;  but  then 
he  was,  at  best,  but  a  common   smith  ;    and    Jeanie 

good  looking,  and  "by  ordinary,"  with  expecta- 
tion^, too,  of  some,  "tocher."  Her  mother,  with  the 
introduction,  "tho'Isayifc,  that  shouldna  say  it," 
was  fond  of  enlarging  on  Jeanie's  excellences,  and 
commenting  on  the  poor  smith,  with  pauses  of  silence, 
and  ions  of  hope     "that    she    might    be    mis- 

taken/"  and     "that  it  was  ill  to  ken  a  body's  w.v 
all  of  whi.-h  remarks,  from   their   very  mystery,  were 
more  ciatory    than   any   dir<  .       But 

□      "  Wee   Davie"    v  iuple 

:•  and  due  to  a — not  ;■ 

r»f  tl  to  thi  ir  daughter,  whom    they  sin- 

I3   loved — to  come  and  visit  her.      Her  mother  had 


10  WEED  A  TIE. 

been  with  Jeanie  at  an  earlier  period;    and  the  house 

was  so  clean,  and  Thorburn  bo  intelligent,  and  the 
child  pronounced  to  be  so  like  old  David  Armstrong, 
Jeanie's  father,  especially  about  the  forehead,  that  the 
two  families,  as  the  smith  remarked,  were  evidently 
being  welded,  so  that  a  few  more  gentle  hammerings 
would  make  them  one. 

"Wee  Davie,"  as  he  grew  up,  became  the  fire  of 
love  which  heated  the  hearts  of  good  metal  so  as  to 
enable  favorable  circumstances  to  give  the  necessary 
finishing  stroke  which  would  permanently  unite  them. 
These  circumstances  were  constantly  occurring;  until 
at  last,  Armstrong  called  every  market-day  to  see  his 
daughter  and  little  grand-son.  The  old  man  played 
with  the  boy,  (who  was  his  only  grand-son,)  and  took 
him  on  his  knee,  and  put  a  "sweetie"  into  his 
mouth,  and  evidently  felt  as  if  he  himself  was  repro- 
duced and  lived  again  in  the  child.  This  led  to 
closer  intercourse,  until  David  Armstrong  admitted 
that  William  Thorburn  was  one  of  the  most  sensible 
men  he  knew  ;  and  that  he  would  not  only  back  him 
against  any  of  his  acquaintances  for  a  knowledge  of 
a  good  horse,  but  for  wonderful  information  as  to  the 
state  of  the  country  generally,  especially  of  the 
landed  interest ;  and  for  sound  views  on  the  high  rent 
of  land.  Mrs.  Armstrong  finally  admitted  that 
Jeanie  was  not  so  far  mistaken  in  her  choice  of  a 
husband.  The  good  woman  always  assumed  that  the 
sagacity  of  the  family  was  derived  from  her  own  side 
of  the  house. 


WEEDATIE.  11 

But  whatever  doubts  still  lingered  in  their  minds 
as  to  the  wisdom  of  their  daughter's  marriage,  were 
all  dispelled  by  one  look  of  "Wee  Davie." 

"I'm  just  real  proud  about  that  braw  bairn  o' 
Jeanie's,"  she  used  to  say  to  her  husband;  remark- 
ing one  da} ,  with  a  chuckling  laugh  and  smile, 
"  d'ye  no  think  yersel,  gudeman,  that  Wee  Davie  has 
a  look  o'  auld  Davie  V  " 

"Maybe,  maybe,"  replied  old  David;  ".but  I  aye 
think  he's  our  ain  bairn  we  lost  thirty  years  syne." 

"That  has  been  in  my  ain  mind,"  said  his  wife, 
with  a  sigh  ;  "but  I  never  liked  to  say  it."  Then, 
after  a  moments  silence,  she  added,  with  a  smile, 
"  but  he's  no  the  waur  o'  being  like  baith." 

Again  : — there  lived  in  the  same  common  pi 
and  opposite  to  William  Thorbuni's  door,  an  old  sol- 
dier, a  pensioner.  He  was  a  bachelor,  and  by  no 
means  disposed  to  hold  intercourse  with  his  neighbors. 
He  greatly  disliked  the  noise  of  children,  and  main- 
tained ^hat  "  an  hour's  drill  every  day  would  alone 
make  them  tolerable."  "Obedience  to  authority, 
that's  the  rule  ;  right  about,  march!  That's  the  only 
exorcise  for  them,"  the  Corporal  would  say  to  some 
father  of  a  numerous  family  in  the  "close,"  as  he 
flourished  his  stick  with  a  smile  rather  than  a  growl. 
Jeanie  pronounced  him  to  be  "a  selfish  body." 
Thorbura  had  more  than  once  tried  to  cultivate  ac- 
quaintance with  him,  as  they  were  constantly  brought 
into  outward  contact :  but  th^  Corporal  was  a  Tory, 
and  more  than  suspected  the  smith  of  holding  Radical 


12  WEED  A  TIE. 

sentiments.     To  defend  things  as   they   were   was  a 
point  of  honor  with  the   pensioner — a  religion.     Be- 
sides,   any  opposition  to   tho  government  seemed    a 
slight  upon   the  army,  and,   therefore  upon   himself. 
Thorburn  at  last  avoided  him,  and  pronounced  him  to 
be  proud  and  ignorant.     But  one  day   "  Wee  Davie" 
found  his  way  into  the  Corporal's   house,  and  putting 
his  hands  on  his  knees  as  he  was  reading  the  newspa- 
per near  the  window,  looked  up  to  his  face.      The  old 
soldier  was  arrested  by  the  beauty  of   the    child,  and 
took  him  on  his  knee.      To  his   surprise,  Davie  did 
not  scream :   and  when  his  mother  soon   followed  in 
search  of  her  boy,  and  made  many  apologies  for  his 
impudence,  as  she  called  it,  the.  Corporal  maintained 
that  he  was  a  jewel,  a  perfect  gentleman,  and  dubbed 
him    "the   Captain."     Next  day,  tapping  at  Thor- 
burn's  door,  the  Corporal  gracefully  presented  toys  in 
the  shape  of  a  small  sword  and  drum   for  his  young 
hero.     That  same  night  he   smoked  his  pipe   at  the 
smith's  fireside,  and  told  such  stories  of   his  battles  as 
tired  the  smith's  enthusiasm,  called  forth  his  praises, 
and,   what   was  more    substantial,   procured  a   most 
comfortable  tea,  which  clinched  their  friendly  inter- 
course.    He   and    "the   Captain"    became  constant 
associates,  and  many  a  loud  laugh  might  be  heard 
from  the  Corporal's  room  as  he  played  with  the  boy, 
and  educated  his  genius.      "He  makes  me  young 
again,    docs    the    Captain  I "     tho    Corporal    often 
remarked  to  the  mother. 

Mrs.  Ferguson,  another  neighbor,  was  also  drawn 


WEE       DAVIE.  13 

into  the  same  friendly  net  by  Wee  Davie.     She  was  a 
fussy,     gossiping     woman,    noisy    and    dis  bble. 

Jeanic  avoided  her,  and  boasted  indeed  that  it  was 
her  rule  to  "  keep  hersel  to  hersel,"  instead  of  giving 
away  some  of  her  good  self  to  her  neighbor,  and  thus 
taking  some  of  her  neighbor's  bad  self  out  of  her. 
But  her  youngest  child  became  seriously  ill,  and 
Jeanie  thought,  "if  Davie  were  ill  I  would  like  a 
neighbor  to  speir  for  him."  So  she  went  up  stairs  to 
visit  Mrs.  Fergusson,  ''begged  pardon,"  but 
"  wished  to  know  how  Mary  was."  Mrs.  Fergusson, 
bowed  down  with  sorrow,  thanked  her,  and  bid  her 
"come  ben."  Jeanie  did  so,  and  spoke  kindly  to  the 
child — told  her  mother,  moreover,  what  pleasure  it 
would  give  her  to  nurse  her  baby  occasionally,  and 
invited  the  younger  children  to  come  down  to  her 
house  and  play  with  Wee  Davie,  so  as  to  keep  the 
sick  one  quiet.  She  helped,  also,  to  cook  some  nour- 
ishing drinks,  and  got  nice  milk  from  her  father  for 
Mary,  often  excusing  herself  for  apparent  "meddling" 
by  saying,  "  when  ane  has  a  bairn  o5  their  ain,  they 
canna  but  feci  for  other  folk's  bairns."  Mrs.  Fer- 
gusson's  heart  became  subdued,  softened,  and  frisndly. 
"We  took  it  as  extraordinar'  kind,"  she  more  than 
once  remarked,     "  in  Mrs.  Thorburn  I  ■  has 

done.     It  is  a  blessing  to  have  sic  a  neighbor."     But 
it  was  Wee  Davie  who  was  the  peacemaker ! 

The  street  in  which  the  smith  lived  was  as  uninter- 
esting as  any  could  be.  A  description  of  its  outs  and 
ins  would   have  made  a    "social  science"   meeting 


14  WEE       DAVIE. 

shudder.  Beauty,  or  even  neatness,  it  had  not. 
Every  "close"  'or  "entry"  in  it  looked  like  a 
sepulchre.  The  back  courts  were  a  huddled  confusion 
of  outhouses ;  strings  of  linens  drying ;  stray  dogs 
searching  for  food ;  hens  and  pigeons  similarly  em- 
ployed with  more  apparent  success  and  satisfaction: 
lean  cats  creeping  about;  crowds  of  children,  laugh- 
ing, shouting,  and  muddy  to  the  eyes,  acting  with 
intense  glee  the  great  dramas  of  life,  marriages,  bat- 
tles, deaths  and  burials,  with  castle-building,  extensive 
farming,  and  various  commercial  operations;  but 
everywhere  smoke,  mud,  moisture,  and  an  utterly 
uncomfortable  look.  And  so  long  as  we,  in  Scotland, 
have  a  western  ocean  to  afford  an  unlimited  supply  of 
water ;  and  western  mountains  to  condense  it  as  it 
passes  in  the  blue  air  over  their  summits ;  and  western 
winds  to  waft  it  to  our  cities ;  and  so  long  as  it  will 
pour  down,  and  be  welcomed  by  smoke  above,  and 
earth  below,  we  shall  find  it  difficult  to  be  "  neat  and 
tidy  about  the  doors, "  or  to  transport  the  cleanliness 
of  England  into  our  streets  and  lanes.  But,  in  spite 
of  all  this,  how  many  cheerful  homes,  with  bright 
fires  and  nice  furniture,  inhabited  by  intelligent,  sober, 
happy  men  and  women,  with  healthy,  lively  children, 
are  everywhere  to  be  found  in  those  very  streets, 
which  seem  to  the  eye  of  those  who  have  never  pene- 
trated further  than  their  outside,  to  be  "dreadful 
places." 

A  happier  home  could  hardly  be  found  than  that  of 


WEE       DAVIE,  15 

William  Thorburn,  as  he  gat  at  the  fireside,  after 
returning  from  his  work,  reading  his  newspaper,  or 
some  book  of  weightier  literature,  selected  by  Jeanie 
from  the  well-filled  shelves  in  the  little  back  parlor, 
•while  Jeanie  herself  was  sewing  opposite  to  him.  As 
it  often  happened,  both  were  absorbed  in  the  rays  of 
that  bright  light,  "  Wee  Davie,"  which  tilled  their 
dwelling,  and  the  whole  world,  to  their  eyes;  or  both 
listened  to  the  grand  concert  of  his  happy  voice, 
w7hich  mingled  with  their  busy  work  and  silent 
thoughts,  giving  harmony  to  all.  ITow  much  was 
done  for  his  sake!  He  was  the  most  sensible, 
efficient,  and  thoroughly  philosophical  teacher  of 
household  economy,  and  of  social  science  in  all  its 
departments  who  could  enter  a  working  man's 
dwelling ! 


CHAPTER  IT. 

My  heart  is  sore  as  I  write  it;  but  Wee  Davie 
got  ill. 

He  began  to  refuse  his  food,  and  nothing  "would 
please  him.  He  became  pevish  and  cross,  so  that  he 
would  hardly  go  to  his  father,  except  to  kiss  him  with- 
tearful  cheeks,  and. then  to  stretch  out  his  hands  with 
a  cry  for  his  mother.  His  mother  nursed  him  on  her 
knee,  rocked  him,  walked  with  him,  sang  to  him  her 
own  household  lullabies ;  put  him  to  bed,  lifted  him 
up,  laid  him  down,  and  "  fought"  with  him  day  and 
night,  caring  for  neither  food  nor  sleep,  but  only  for 
her  child's  ease  and  comfort. 

What  lessons  of  self-sacrificing  love  was  she  thus 
unconsciously  taught  by  her  little  sufferer!  Such 
lessons,  indeed,  as  earth  alone  can  afford — and  so  far 
it  is  a  glorious  school ;  for  there  are  no  sickbeds  to 
watch,  no  sufferers  to  soothe,  nor  mourners  to  comfort, 
among  the  many  mansions  of  our  .Father's  house. 

The  physician,  who  was  at  last  called  in,  pronounced 
it  "  a  bad  case — a  rery  serious  case."  I  forget  the 
specific  nature  of  the  illness.  The  idea  of  danger  to 
Davie,  had  never  entered  the  minds  of  his  parents. 
The  clay  on  which  William  realised  it,  he   was,  as  his 


Wll       CAVIl. 

fellow-workmen  expressed  it,  "clean  stupid"  They 
saw  him  make  mistakes  ho  had  never  made  before, 
and  knew  it  could  not  be  from  "drink,"  yet  could 
not  guess  the  cause.  "I  maun  gang  hame  !  "  was 
his  only  explanation,  when,  at  throe  o'clock,  lie  put 
on  his  (  I  stalked  out   of    the   smithy,   like   one 

utterly  indifferent  as  to  what  the  consequences  might 
be  to  ploughs  or  harrows,  wheels  or  horse-shoes. 
Taking  an  old  fellow-workman  aside,  he  whispered  to 
him,  "for  auld  friendship  sake,  Tarn,  tak  charge  this 
day  o'  my  wark."  He  said  no  more.  "  What  ails 
Willy?"  asked  his  fellow-workmen  in  vain,  as  they 
all  paused  for  a  moment  at  their  work  and  looked 
perplexed. 

It  was  on  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  that  the 
minister  called.  It  must  here  be  confessed  that 
William  was  a  rare  attender  of  any  church  The  fact 
.  he  had  been  hitherto  rather  sceptical  in  his  ten- 
dencies :  not  that  his  doubts  had  ever  assumed  a 
tematic  form,  or  were  ever  expressed  in  any  determined 
or  dogmatic  manner;  but  he  had  read  Tom  Paine, 
i  iaied  the  political  rights  of  man  with  rebellion 
against  old  authoritits,  all  of  whom  he  thought  had 
:  nnically  denied  them  ;  and  he  had  imbibed  the 
i  at  the  old  '-'philosophical"  club,  thn' 
especially  those  of  the  Established  Church,  were  the 
enemies  of  all  ]  .    had  no   sympathy  \ 

working  <•!;;-  aVes  t<>  tie-  aristocraej  .  preached 

as  a  me;  q  and  only  for  their    pay,  ai 


13  \TEE      BAVII, 

moreover,  a  large  share  of  hypocrisy  and  humbug  in 
them.  The  visit  of  Dr.  ?-i*  Gavin  was,  therefore,  very 
unexpeel 

When  the  Dr.  entered  the  hous  \  aiter  a  courteous 
request  to  be  allowed  to  do  so, — as  it  was  always  his 
principle  that  the  poorest  man  was  entitled  to  the 
same  respect  as  the  man  of  rank  or  riches, — he  said, 
"  I  have  just  heard  from  some  of  your  neighbors, 
whom  I  have  been  visiting,  that  your  child  is  seriously 
unwell,  and  I  thought  you  wTould  excuse  my  calling 
upon  you  to  inquire  for  him." 

William  made  him  welcome,  and  begged  him  to  be 
seated.  The  call  was  specially  acceptable  to  Jeanie. 
Old  David,  I  should  have  mentioned,  was  an  elder  in 
a  most  worthy  dissenting  congregation,  and  his  strong 
religious  convictions  and  church  views,  formed  in  his 
mind  a  chief  objection  to  the  marriage  of  his  daughter 
with  a  man  who  was  not,  as  he  said,  even  a  member 
of  any  kirk.  Jeanie  had  often  wished  her  husband 
to  be  more  decided  in  what  she  herself  cordially  ac- 
knowledged to  be  a  duty,  and  felt  to  be  a  comfort  and 
a  privilege.  The  visit  of  the  Dr.,  whose  character 
was  well  known  and  much  estecfhied,  wae,  therefore, 
peculiarly  welcome  to  her. 

In  a  little  while  the  Dr.  was  standing  beside  the 
cot  of  Wee  Davie,  who  was  asleep,  and  gently  touch- 
ing the  little  sui  hand,  he  said  in  a  quiet  voice, 
to  the  Smith,  "my  friend,  I  sincerely  fool  for  you] 
I  am  myself  a  father,  and  have  suffered  losses  in   my 


W  L  E       D  A   M  E  i  10 

family."  At  the  word  losses,  William  winced,  and 
moved  from  his  place  as  if  he  felt  uneasy.  The  'Dr. 
quickly  perceived  it.  and  said,  "I  do  not,  of  course, 
mean  to  express  so  rash  and  unkind  an  opinion  as  that 
jou  are  to  lose  this  very  beautiful  and  interesting  l.oy, 
lout  only  to  assure  you  how  I  am  enabled,  from  expe- 
rience, to  understand  your  anxiety,  and  to  sympathise 
with  you  and  your  wife."  And  noiselessly  walking 
to  the  arm-chair  near  the  fire,  he  there  sat  down, 
while  William  and  Jeanie  sat  near  him. 

After  hearing  with  patience  and  attention  the 
account  from  Jeanie  of  the  beginning  and  progress  of 
the  child's  disease,  he  said,  "  whatever  happens,  it  is 
a  comfort  to  know  that  our  Father  is  acquainted  with 
all  you  Buffer,  all  you  fear,  and  all  you  wish;  and  that 
Jesus  Christ,  our  Brother,  has  a  fellow-feeling  with 
us  in  all  our  infirmities  and  trials/' 

'  The  Deity  must  know  all,"  said  William,  with  a 
softened  voice  ;  "he  is  infinitely  great  and  incompre- 
hensible." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  minister;  "God  is  so  great 
that  he  can  attend  to  our  smallest  concerns;  yet  nor 
so  incomprehensible  hut  that  a  father's  heart  can  truly 
r  Him,  so  as  at  Least  to  find  him  through  his 
Son.  Oh!  what  a  comfort  and  strength  the  thought 
is  U>  all  men,"  continued  th<*  Dr.,  "and  ought  to  be 
to  working  men.  and  to  you  paren  eeiaUy  with 

your  dear  child    in    sickness,  that    If,-  who  -   a 

sparrow  tali,  smitten  by  winter's  cold,  and 


WEE       5AVIE. 

the  wild  beasts,  is  acquainted  with  us.  with  our  most 
secret  affair.-,  50  that  even  the  hairs  of  our  heads  are 
numbered ;  That  He  who  is  the  Father,  almighty 
Maker  of  the  heavens  and  t  3  the  thii 

which  v  :    that  He  has  in  us,  i  tally,  an 

interest  which  is  incomprehen  use  His 

love  to  1  ipth,  for  He  so  hived   us  that 

He   spared   noi  own  Son,  but  gave   Him  up   to 

death  for  us  all !  It  is  this  God  who  considers  each 
of  us,  and  weighs  all  His  dealings  towards  us  with  a 
carefulness  as  great  as  if  we  alone  existed  in  His 
universe,  so  that,  as  a  father  pitieth  his  children,  He 
pitieth  us,  knowing  our  frames,  and  remembering  that 
we  are  dust." 

William  bent  his  head,  and  was  silent ;  while  Jeanie 
listened  with  her  whole  soul.  "It  is  not  easy,  min- 
ister," he  at  last  said,  "  for  hard  -wrought  and  tired 
men  to  believe  that."' 

"Nor  for  any  man,"  replied  the  Dr.  "I  find  it 
very  difficult  to  believe  it  myself  as  a  real  thing,  yet 
I  know  it  to  be  true  :  and,"  he  continued  in  a  low 
and  aate  voice,   "  perhaps  we  never  could  have 

known  it,  or  believed  it  at  all,  unless  God  had    tai 
it  to  us  by  the  life  of  His  own  Son,  who  came   to   re- 
a  Father.     But  as   I  see   Him  taking   up    little 
children  into  His  lov'm  .  when  others  would  k 

them  away  who  did  not  understand  what  perfect  love 
U,  and  as  1  Bee  in  such  doings  how  love  cannot  but 
come  down  and  meet  the  wants    of    its   smallest   and 


WEE       DAVIE.  21 

weakest  object— when  I  see  all  this  love 

in  the  giving  up  of  His  life  for  .  oh  !  ii  is  I 

I  learn  in   what   consists  the   real   • 

4  whose  name  is  Love.''' 

"I  believe  wi'   my   heart,"'    remarked   the   smith, 
"that  no  man  ever  loved  as  Jos  us  Christ  did." 

"But,"  said  the  Dr.,  "I  see  in  this  love  of  Oh 
more  than  the  love  of  a  good  man  merely;  !  I 
vealed  in  it  the  loving  tenderness  towards  us  and  ours 
of  that  God  whom  no  eye  hath  Been,  or  can  see,  but 
whom  the  eve  of  the  spirit,  when  taught  of  God,  can 
perceive;  for,  as  Jesus  said,  'he  who  seeth  rue,  seeth 
the  Father  !  '  " 

"I  believe  a"  ye  say,  Dr.,"    said    Jeanie,    meekly, 
"/wadna  like  to   keep   my  bairn  frae  Him,  nor   to 
uinst  his  will,  for  ;  ficht;    but,  ()  sir,  I 

hope,  I  hope,  He  will  lift  him  up.  and  help  us  no 
He  did  many  di  ;  ones  while  on   earth,  by  spar- 

ing ane  that'  like  a  pairt  o'  our  ain  hear! 

"  I  hope,"  said  the  minister,    "  God  will  s] 
boy.     But  you  must  sincerely  ask  ETii 

o,  and  commit  y out- child  into  hi-  hinds   witl 
fear,  and  acquiesce  in  His  • 
boy  as  Ho  pi 

"  That  is  hardL"  remarked  William! 

!"  mildl;  Dr.     •■  What  would 

er  than  acquiece  in  the  will  of  Gel*."     Would 
trust  your  own    heart,  for  instance,   mon 


22  WEE       DAVIE, 

heart  of  God?  Or,  tell  me,  would  you  rather  have 
your  child's  fate  decided  by  any  other  on  earth  than 
by  yourself?  " 

' '  No,  for  I  know  how  T  love  the  boy, "  was  Jeanie's 
reply. 

"  But  God  loves  him  much  more  than  you  do  ;  for 
he  belongs  to  God,  and  was  made  by  Him  and  for 
Him." 

"I  ken  I  am  a  waik  woman,  Dr.,  but  I  frankly 
say  that  I  canna,  no,  I  canna  thole  the  thocht  o'  part- 
ing wi'  bin ;  "  said  Jeanie,  clasping  her  hands  tightly. 

"  May  God  spare  him  to  you,  my  friends/'  replied 
the  minister,  "if  it  be  for  your  good  and  his.  But,'' 
he  added,  "there  are  worse,  things  than  death." 

This  remark,  made  in  almost  an  uncler-voice,  was 
followed  by  silence  for  a  few  moments.  The  minister's 
-  were  cast  down  as  if  in  meditation  or  prayer. 

"Death  is  hard  enough,"  said  the  smith. 

"But  hard  chiefly  as  a  sign  of  something  worse," 
continued  the  Dr.  "  Pardon  me  for  asking  you  such 
questions  as  these  :  What  if  your  child  grew  up  an 
enemy  to  you  ?  What  if  he  never  returned  your  love  ? 
What  if  he  never  would  trust  you  ?  What  if  he 
never  would  speak  to  you?  What  if  he  always  diso- 
beyed you  ?  Would  not  this  bring  down  your  gray 
hairs  with  sorrow  to  the  grave?" 

"  Eh  !  sir,"  said  Jeanie,  "  that  would  be  waur  than 
death  ! " 

"  But  excuse  me    Dr.,  for  just  remarking,"    inter- 


WEE       DAVIE 


23 


rupted  William,  "  that  I  never  knew  any  child  with 
a  good  parent,  who  would  so  act.  I  really  don't 
think  it  possible  that  our  ain  Wee  Davie,  even  with 
our  poor  bringing  up,  would  ever  come  to  thai.  It 
would  be  so  unnatural." 

61  God  alone  knows  how  that  might  be,  Thorburn," 
said  the  Dr.  "But  there  are  many  things  more  un- 
natural and  dreadful  even  than  that  in  this  world. 
Listen  to  me  kindly  ;  for  I  sincerely  thank  you  for 
having  allowed  one  who  is  a  stranger  to  speak  so 
frankly  to  you,  and  for  having  heard  me  with  such 
considerate  patience." 

"  Oh,  gang  on,  gang  on,  sir,  I  like  to  hear  you," 
said  Jeannic. 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  smith. 

"  Well,  theii,"  said  the  minister,  "  I  have  no  wish 
even  to  appear  to  find  any  fault  with  you  at  such  a 
time.  I  am  more  disposed,  believe  me,  to  weep  with 
you  in  your  sorrow  than  to  search  your  heart  or  life 
for  sin.  But  I  feel  at  such  solemn  times  as  these, 
most  solemn  to  you  and  to  your  wife,  that  the  voice  of 
a  Father  is  speaking  to  you  in  the  rod,  and  it  ought- 
to  be  heard  ;  that  His  hand  is  ministering  discipline 
to  you,  and  that  you  ought  to  give  Him  reverence,  and 
be  in  subjection  to  the  Father  of  our  spirits  that  you 
may  live.  In  order,  therefore,  that  you  may  receive 
more  strength  * nd  comfort  in  the  end,  let  me  beseech 
of  you  to  consider  candidly,  after  I  leave  you,  whether 
you  have  perhaps  not  been  acting  towards  your  Father 


24  WEE       DAVIE. 

in  heaven  in  that  very  way  which,  did  your  child  grow 
up  and  act  towards  yon,  would  be  reckoned  by  you 
both  as  a  sorrow  worse  than  death?" 

"How  could  that  be?"  asked  Jeannic,  with  a  timid 
and  inquiring  look. 

"  You  may  discover  how,  my  friends,  if  you  hon- 
estly ask  yourselves,  Whether  you. have  loved  God 
your  Father  who  has  so  loved  you  ?  Has  there  been 
cordial  friendship,  or  the  reverse,  towards  Him  ?  Confi- 
dence, or  distrust  ?  Disobedience,  or  rebellion  ?  Com- 
munion in  frank,  believing,  and  affectionate  prayer, 
or  distant  silence  ?  I  do  not  wish  any  reply  to  such 
questions  now  ;  but  I  desire  you  and  myself,  as  loving 
fathers  of  our  children,  to  ask  whether  we  have  acted 
towards  the  best  and  most  loving  of  Fathers,  as  we 
wish  our  children  to  feel  and  act  towards  ourselves  ?" 

The  Dr.  paused  for  a  moment.  Jeannie  shook  her 
head  slowly,  and  the  smith  stared  with  her  at  the 
fire. 

"  By  the  grace  of  God,"  said  Jeannie,  in  a  whis- 
per, "  I  hope  I  have." 

"  I  hope  so  too,"  replied  the  minister,  "  but  it 
does  not  come  naturally  to  us." 

"  It's  a  fact,"  ejaculated  the  smith,  thrusting  his 
hands  vehemently  into  his  pockets ;  "  it  does  not  come 
naturally,  in  whatever  way  it  comes,  and  yet  it's  des* 
perate  unnatural  the  want  o  t." 

"Yes,  Thorburn;"  replied  the  Dr.,  "it  is  very 
dreadful,  but  yet  we  have  all  Binned,  and  this  is  our 


WEEDAVIE.  25 

sin  of  sins,  that  we  have  not  known  nor  loved  our 
Father,  but  have  been  forgetful  of  Him,  strange,  shy- 
to  him;  we  have,  every  one  of  us,  been  cold,  heart- 
less, prodigal,  disobedient  children  !  " 

Another  short  pause,  and  he  then  spoke  on  in  the 
same  quiet  and  loving  voice  :  ' '  but  whatever  we  are 
or  have  been,  let  us  hope  in  God  through- Jesus  Christ,, 
or  we  perish  !  Every  sinner  is  righteously  doomed, 
but  no  man  is  doomed  to  be  a  sinner  God  is  our 
Father  still,  for  He  is,  in  Christ,  reconciling  the 
world  to  Himself,  not  imputing  unto  men  their  tres- 
passes;  and  just  as  you  both  have  nourished  and 
cherished  your  dear  boy,  and  have  been  loving  him 
when  he  knew  it  not,  nor  could  understand  that  great 
love  in  your  hearts,  which,  sure  am  I,  will  never 
grow  cold  but  in  the  grave,  so  has  it  been  with  God 
toward  us.  Open  your  hearts  to  His  love,  as  you 
would  open  your  eyes  to  .the  light  which  has  been 
ever  shining.  Believe  it  as  the  grand  reality,  as  you 
would  have  your  boy  open  his  heart  to  and  believe  in 
your  own  love,  when  he  wakens  from  his  sleep.  Your 
love,  as  I  have  said,  is  deep,  real  to  your  boy,  irre- 
spective of  his  knowledge  or  return  of  it.  But  what 
is  this  to  the  love  of  God  !  '  Herein  is  love,  not  tha^ 
we  loved  God,  but  that  he  loved  us,  and  gave  his  Son 
to  be  a  propitiation  for  our  sins.'  Let  us,  my  friends, 
never  rest  till  we  are  enabled  in  some  degree  to  see 
and  to  appreciate  such    marvellous   goodness,  and   to 


26  WEB      DAVIE. 

say,  'we  have  known  and  believed  the  love  which 
God  has  to  us.'" 

"  Dr.  M'Gavin,"  said  William,  "  you  have  spoken 
to  me  as  no  man  ever  did  before,  and  you  will  believe 
me,  I  am  sure,  when  I  say  that  I  respect  you  and 
myself  too  much  to  flatter  you.  But  there  is  surely  a 
meaning  in  my  love  to  that  boy  which  I  never  saw 
before !     It  begins  to  glimmer  on  me." 

"  Thank  God  if  it  does!  But  I  do  not  speak  to 
you,  and  this  you  must  give  me  credit  for,  as  if  it 
were  my  profession  only;  I  speak  to  you  as  a  man,  a 
father  and  a  brother,  wishing  you  to  share  the  good 
which  God  has  given  to  me,  and  wishes  you  and  all 
men  to  share.  So  I  repeat  it,  that  if  we  would  only 
cherish  towards  God  that  simple  confidence  and  hearty 
love — and  seek  to  enjoy  with  Him  that  frank,  cheer- 
ful communion  which  we  wish  our  children  to  possess 
in  relation  to  ourselves,  we, would  experience  a  true 
regeneration,  the  important  change  from  an  estranged 
heart  to  a  child's  love." 

"That  would,  indeed,  be  a  Christianity  worth 
having,"  said  William. 

"It  would  be,"  continued  the  Dr.,  "to  share 
Christ's  life  ;  for  what  was  the  whole  life  of  Jesus 
Christ,  but  a  life  of  this  blessed,  confiding,  obedient, 
child-like  sonship  ?  Oh,  that  we  would  learn  of  Him, 
and  grow  up  in  likeness  to  Him  !  But  this  ignorance 
of  God  is  itself  death.  For  if  knowledge  be  life, 
spiritual  ignorance  is  death.     My  good  friends,  I  have 


WEE      DAVI  E  .  27 

boen  led  to  give  3-011  a  regular  sermon  !  "  said  the  Dr., 
smiling;    "  but  I  really  cannot  help  it.      To  use  com- 
mon,   everyday  language,  I  think   our  treatment  of 
God  has  been  shameful,   unjust,    and  disgraceful    on 
the  part  of  men    with   reason,  conscience,  and  heart- 
I  do  not  express  myself  half  so  strongly  as  I  feel.     I 
am  ashamed  and  disgusted   with   myself,  and  all  the 
members  of  the  human  family,  for  what  we  feel,  and 
feel  not,  to  such  a  Father.     If  it  were  not  for   what 
the  one  elder  Brother  was  and   did,  the   whole  family 
would  have  been  disgraced  and  ruined    most   righte- 
ously.    But  His  is  the  name,  and    there  is    no%  other 
whereby  we  can  be  saved  !  " 

'Dr.,"    said    William,    with    a    trembling    voice 
"the  mind  is  dark,  and  the  heart  is  hard!" 

"The  Spirit  of  God  who  is  given  with  Christ  can 
enlighten  and  soften  both,  my  brother." 

"  Thank  ye,  thank  ye  from  my  heart."    replied  the 
smith  ;   "I  confess  I  have  been  very  careless  in  going 

to  the  church,  but " 

•  We  may  talk  of  that  again,  if  you  allow  me  to 
return  to-morrow.  Yet,"  said  the  Dr.,  pointing  to 
the  child,  "God  in  His  mercy  never  leaves  Himself 
without  a  witness.  Look  at  your  child,  and  listen  to 
your  own  heart,  and  remember  all  I  have  said,  and 
you  will  perhaps  discover  that  though  yon  tried  it  you 
could  not  fly  fn.ni  the  word  of  the  Lord,  should  you 
<  v-n  bave  fled  from  the  Bible.  A  Father's  voice  by 
a  child  has  been  preaching   to  you.     Yes,  Thorburn  ! 


28  W   E  E       D  A   V   I  F.   . 

when,  in  love,  God  gave  you  that  child,  He  sent  an 
eloquent  missionary  to  your  house  to  preach  the  gospel 
of  what  our  Father  is  to  us,  and  what  we,  as  children, 
ought  to  be  to  Him.  Only  listen  to  that  sermon,  and 
you  will  soon  be  prepared  to  listen  to  others." 

.The  Dr.  rose  to  depart.     Before  doing  so,  he  asked 
permission  to   pray,    which    was   cheerfully  .granted. 
Wishing  to  strengthen   the   faith,  in  prayer,  of    those 
sufferers,  he  first   said,     "  if    God    cannot   hear    and 
answer  prayer,  He  is  not  all-perfect  and   supreme ;  if 
He  will  not,  He  is  not  our  Father.     But,  blessed  be 
His  name,  His   own  Son,  who  knew  Him   perfectly, 
prayed  Himself,  and  was  heard  in   that  He   prayed. 
He  heard,  too,  every  true  prayer  addressed   to   Him- 
self; while    lie    has,  in   His    kindness,   furnished    us 
with  an  argument  for  prayer,  the  truth  and   beauty  of 
which  we  parents  can,  of    all    men,  most   appreciate: 
'Ask,  and  it  shall  be  given  you;    seek,  and    ye  shall 
find  ;  knock,  and    it  shall  be  opened  unto  you  :    for 
every  one  that  asketh,  receiveth  ;  and  he  that  seeketh, 
findeth  ;  and  to  him  that  knocketh,  it  shall  be  opened. 
Or,- what  man  is  there  of  you,  whom,  if   his   son   ask 
bread,  will  he  give  a  stone?     Or,  if   he   ask    a   fish, 
will  he  give  him  a  serpent?     If   ye  then,  being  evil, 
know  how  to  give  good  gifts  unto    your  children,  how 
much  more  shall  your  Father  which' is   in  heaven  give 
the  Holy  Spirit  to  them  that  ask  Him  ! '  " 

The  Dr.  then  poured  forth   a  simple,  loving,  and 
most  sympathising  prayer,  in  which  he  made   himself 


WEl       DAVIE.  29 

one  with  his  fellow-worshippers,  and  expressed  to  a 
common  Father,  the  anguish  and  the  hopes  of  the 
hearts  around  him  ~\\  hen  it  ended,  he  went  to  the 
cot,  and  looked  at  the  sleeping  child,  touched  his 
white  hand,  and  said,  "God  bless  you  little  one! 
May  this  sleep  be  for  health." 

"It's  the  first  sleep,"  said  Jeanie.  "  he  has  had 
for  a  lang  time.      It  may  be  a  turn  in  his  complaint." 

The  minister  then  shook  them  both  warmly  by  the 
hand,  and  gazed'on  them  with  a  world  of  interest  in 
his  eyes,  asking  them  only  to  consider  kindly  what  he 
had  said. 

The  silence  which  ensued  for  a  few  minutes  after 
his  absence,  as  William  and  Jeanie  returned  from  the 
door  and  stood  beside  the  bed,  was  broken  by  the 
smith  observing,  "  I  am  glad  that  man  came  to  our 
house,  Jeanie.  Yon  was  indeed  preaching  that  a  man 
can  understand  and  canna  forget.  It  was  Wee  Davie 
did  it." 

"  That**  true,"  said  Jeanie  ;  ."  thank  God  for't !  " 
And  after  gazing  on  the  sleeping  child,  she  added, 
"Is  he  no  bonnie?     I  dinna' wunnar  that  sic  a  bairn 

ould  bring  guid  to  the  house." 

That  nighi  William  had  thoughts  in  his  heart  which 
burned  with  a  redder  glow  than    the    coals    upon    the 
!iy  fire ! 


CHAPTER  III. 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning  in  spring,  with  blue  sky, 
living  air,  springing  grass,  and  singing  birds  ;  but 
William  Thorburn  had  not  left  his  house,  and  the 
door  was  shut. 

Mrs.  Fergusson  trod  the  wooden  stair  that  led  to 
the  floor  above  with  slow  and  cautious  step:  and  as 
she  met  her  boy  jnnning  down  whistling,  she  said, 
"what  d'ye  mean,  Jamie,  wi'  that  noise?  Do  ye  no 
ken  Wee  Davie  is  dead  ?  Ye  should  hae  mair  feeling, 
laddie ! " 

The  Corporal,  whose  door  was  half-open,  crept  out, 
and  in  an  under-breath  beckoned  Mrs.  Fergusson  to 
speak  to  him.  "  Do  you  know  how  they  are?"  he 
asked,  in  a  low  voice. 

"No,"  she  replied, 'shaking  her  head.  "I  sat  up 
wi'  Mrs.  Thorburn  half  the  night,  and  left  Davie 
sleeping,  and  never  thocht  it  would  come  to  this.  My 
heart  is  sair  for  them.  But  since  it  happened  the 
door  has  been  barred,  and  no  one  has  been  in.  I 
somehow  dinna  like  to  intrude,  for  nae  doot  they  will 
be  in  an  awfu'  way  aboot  that  bairn." 

"I  don't  wonder, — I   don't   wonder!"    remarked 

the  Corporal,  meditatively;  I  did  not  believe  I  could 
(30) 


WEE      DAVIE.  ,'i| 

feel  as  T  do  I  don't  understand  it.  Here  am  I,  who 
have  seen  men  killed  by  my  side ; — who  have  seen  a 
few  shots  cut  down  almost  half  our  company  :  and — " 

"  Is  it  possible  !  "  interposed  Mrs.  Fergusson. 

<l  It  is  certain/'  said  the  Corporal;  .  "  and  I  have 
charged  at  Pampeluna — it  was  there  T  w*s  wounded — 
over  dead  and  dying  comrades,  yet,*  will  you  believe 
me  ?  T  never  shed  a  tear — never  ;  but  there  was 
something  in  that  Captain — I  mean  the  boy — "  and 
the  Corporal  took  out  his  snuff-box,  and  snuffed  vehe- 
mently. "  And  what  a  brave  fellow  his  father  is !  I 
never  thought  I  could  love  a  Radical ;  he  is — I  don't 
know  what  else,  but  he  is  a  man — an  out-and-out 
man,  every  inch  of  him,  I'll  say  that  for  him — a  man 
is  William  Thorburn  !     Have  you  not  seen  his  wife  ?  '' 

"  No,  poor  body  !  It  was  six  o'clock  when  she  ran 
up  to  me,  no  distracted  either,  but  awfu'  quiet  like, 
and  wakened  me  up,  and  just  said,  '  he's  awa  !  '  and 
then  afore  I  could  speak,  she  ran  doon  the  stair,  and 
steekit  her  door  ;  and  she  has  such  a  keen  spirit,  I 
dinna  like  to  gang  to  bother  her.  I'm  unco  wac  for 
them." 

They  wire  both  silent,  as  if  listening  for  some 
sound  in  William  Thorburn's  house,  but  all  was  stil] 
as  the  grat  e. 

The  first  who  entered  (hat  morning  wore  old  David 
and  his  wife.      They    found    Jeanie    ! 
about   her   house,  and    William    sitting   on   a   chair. 
dressed  better  than  usual,  staring  into  thv  fire 


S2  WS<      DATIS. 

curtains  of  the  bed  were  up.  It  was  covered  with  a 
pure  white  sheet,  and  something  lay  upon  it  which 
they  recognized. 

Jeanie  came  forward,  and  took  the  hand  of  father 
and  mother,  without  a  tear  on  her  face,  and  said 
quietly,  "Come  ben/'  as  she  gave  her  father  a  chair 
beside  her  husband,  and  led  her'  mother  into  an  inner 
room,  closing  tiic  door.  What  was  spoken  there  be- 
tween them,  I  know  not. 

William  rose  to  receive  old  David,  and  remarked, 
in  a  careless  manner,  that  "  it  was  a  fine  spring  day." 

David  gave  a  warm  squeeze  to  his  hand,  and  sat 
down.  He  soon  rose  and  went  to  the  bed.  William 
followed  him,  and  took  the  cloth  off  the  boy's  face  in 
silence.  The  face  was  unchanged,  as  .in  sleep.  The 
flaxen  curls  seemed  to  have  been  carefully  arranged, 
for  they  escaped  from  under  the  white  cap,  and  clus- 
tered like  golden  wreaths  around  the  marble  forehead 
and  cheeks.  William  covered  up  the  face,  and  both 
returned  to  their  seats  by  the  fireside. 

"  I  never  lost  ane  since  my  ain  Wee  Davie  dee'd, 
and  yours,  Willie,  was  dear  to  me  as  ray  ain/'  ex- 
claimed the  old  man,  and  then  broke  down,  and  sobbed 
like  a  child. 

William  never  moved,  though  his  great  chest  seemed 
to  heave ;  but  he  seized  the  poker,  and  began  to 
arrange  the  fire,  and  then  was  still  as  before. 

By  and  by,  the  door  of  the  inner  room  opened,  and 
Jeanie  and  Lei*  mother  appeared,   both  of  them  com- 


W  E  E      D  A  v  r  n  .  33 

posed  and  calm.  The  same  scene  was  repeated  as 
they  passed  the  bed.  Mrs.  Armstrong  then  seated 
herself  beside  her  husband. 

Jeanie  placing  a  large  Bible  on  the  table,  pointed 
to  it,  and  said,  "Father."  She  then  drew  her  chair 
near  the  smith's. 

David  Armstrong  put  on  his  spectacles,  opened  the 
Bible,  and  selecting  a  portion  of  Scripture,  reverently 
said,    ■«  Let  us  read  the   Word  of  God."     TJie  h< 
was  quiet.     No   business  on   that   clay  intruded  itself 
upon  their  minds.      It  was  difficult  for  any  of  them  to 
speak,  but  they  were  willing   to  here.     The  | 
which  old  David  selected   for  reading  were  2  Samuel 
xii:   15 — 23,  on  the  sorrow   of  King   David  when  he 
lost  his  child;  Matthew   ix :   18—26,   containing  the 
history  of  the  raising   up  of  the  daughter  of  Jairus; 
and  J8hn  xi  :   1—44,  with  its  memorable  narrative  of 
the  darkness   of  mysterious   sorrow,    and   the  light  of 
unexpected   deliverance   experienced  by  Martha  and 
Mary  of  Bethany. 

ETavin  1  the  Book,  he  said,  with  a  trembling 

solemn  voice,   "God,*  who   doeth   all   thii    -      - 
cording  to  the  council  of  his  own  will. 
send  us  a  1:  iiiction.      'The  Lord   giveth,  and 

the  Lord  taketh  away!'     May  He 
all  times,    'Blessed  be  the  name  of  the    Lord.'      .: 
whether  Be  :  : 

same    in    love    and    mercy  tow 
ought  to  have  the  same  confidence  from  us.     In  truth, 


34  WEE       DAVIE, 

if  He  takes  away,  it  is  but  to  give  something  better, 
for  He  afflicts  us  in  order  to  make  us  partakers  of 
His  holiness.  Our  little  one  is  not  dead,  but  only 
sleepeth  V 

Here  David  paused,  but  recovering  himself,  said, 
"  Yes,  his  body  sleepeth  in  Jesus  till  the  resurrection 
morning.  He  himself  is  with  Christ.  He  is  alive, 
in  his  Fathers  bosom'.  Oh,  it  is  strange  to  think  o't, 
and  hard  to  believe !  but,  blessed  be  God  !  it's  true, 
that — that — Jesus  Christ,  who  sees  us,  sees  him,  and 
sees  us  thegither,  ay.  at  this  vera  moment ! — "  con- 
tinued David,  thoughtfully,  like  one  pondering  on  a 
new  truth;  "  this  very  moment  we  are  all  in  His 
sight !     Oh,    it's    grand    and    comforting ;    our    Wee 

Davie  is  in  the  arms  of  Jesus  Christ!" 

• 

A  solemn  silence  ensued.  "  The  bonnie  bairn  will 
never  return  to  us,"  continued  the  elder,  "  but  we 
shall  go  to  him,  and  some  o'  us  ere  Lang,  I  hope. 
Let  us  pray."  And  they  all  knelt  down,  and  a  true 
prayer  was  spoken  from  suffering  parents,  to  Him 
(i  of  whom  the  whole  family  in  heaven  and  earth  is 
named*" 

To  David's  surprise  and  great  satisfaction,  he  heard 
William  utter  Amen  to  his  prayer,  which  included 
honest  confession  of  sin  ;  expressions  of  thankfulness 
for  mercies,  amongst  others,  for  the  great  gift  of  their 
child,  thus  taken  away,  for  all  he  had  been,  and  for 
all  he  then  was ;  with    trustful   petitions   for  the  for- 


WEE       DAVIE.  35 

giveness  of  sin,  and  grace  to  help  in  this  their  time  of 
need. 

That  afternoon  Dr.  M'Gavin  called,  and  manifested 
quiet,  unobtrusive,  but  most  touching  sympathy.  His 
very  silence  was  eloquent  affection. 

"I'm  proud  to  meet  wi'  you,  sir,"  said  old  Arm- 
strong, after  the  Dr.  had  been  seated  for  a  while. 
"  Altho'  I'm  no  o'  your  kirk,  yet  we're  baith  o'  ae 
kirk  for  a1  that'." 

"With  one  Father,  one  Brother,  one  Spirit,  one 
life,  one  love,  one  hope,"  replied  the  Dr. 

"  True,  sir,  true,  our  differences  are  nothing  to  our 
agreements.'' 

"  Our  non-essential  differences  arise  out  of  our 
essential  union,  Mr.  Armstrong.  For  if  we  differ 
honestly  and  conscientiously  as  brethren,  I  hope  it  is 
because  we  differ  only  in  judgment  as  to  how  to  pl< 
our  Father,  and  our  elder  Brother.  Our  hearts  are 
one  in  our  wish  to  do  their  will.  For  none  of  us 
livcth  or  even  dieth  to  himself." 

"Ay,  ay,  sir.  So  it  is,  so  it  is.  But  as  the  auld 
saying  nas't,  '  The  best  o'  men  are  but  men  at  the 
best'  We  maun  carry  ane  another's  burdens;  and 
ignorance,  or  even  bigotry,  is  the  heaviest  ony  man 
can  carry  for  his  neebor.  Thank  God,  however,  thai 
brighter  and  better  times  are  coming!  We  iier< 
thro'  a  glass  darkly  ;  but  then  face  to  face.  We  know 
only  in  pairt,  then  shall  we  know  even  as  we  are 
known.     In  the  meantime,  we  must  be  faithful  to  our 


36  WEE       DAVIE. 

given  light,  and,  according  to  the  best  o1  our  fallible 
judgment,  serve  Him,  and  not  man." 

"  There  arc  differences  among  living  men,"'  replied 
the  minister,   "  but  none  among 'the  dead.      We  shall 
agree  perfectly  only  when  we  know  and  lu\ 
without  error  and   without  sin.'' 

"I  mind,"  said  David,  warming,  with  the  conver- 
sation, and  the  pleasure  ^of  getting  his  better  heart 
out — "I  mind  twa  neighbors  o'  ours,  and  yc'll  mind 
them,  too,  gude-wife?  that  was  Johnnie  Morton  and 
auld  Andrew  Gebbie.  The  tane  was  a  keen  Burgher, 
and  the  t'lther  an  Anti-burgher..  Baith  lived  in  the 
same  house,  tho'  at  different  ends,  and  it  was  the 
bargain  that  each  should  keep  his  am  side  o'  the  house 
weel  thatched.  But  they  happened  to  dispute  so 
keenly  about  the  principles  o'  their  kirks,  that  at  last 
they  quarrelled,  and  didna  speak  at  a',  So  ae  day 
after  this,  as  they  were  on  the  roof  thatching,  each  on 
his  ain  side,  they  reached  the  tap,  and  looking  ower, 
face  met  face.  What  could  they  do  ?  They  couldna 
See.  So  at  last,  Andrew  took  aff  his  Kilmarnock  cap, 
and  scratching  his  head,  said,  •  Johnnie,  you  and  me, 
I  think,  hae  been  very  foolish  to  dispute  as  we  hao 
done  concerning  Christ's  will  aboot  our  kirks,  until 
we  hae  clean  forgot  His  will  aboot  ourselves ;  and  so 
we  hae  fought  so  bitterly  for  what  we  ca'  the  truth, 
that  it  has  ended  in  spite.  Whatever's  wrang,  it's 
perfectly  certain  that  it  never  can  be.richt  to  be  uncivil, 
unneighborly,  unkind,   in  fao,   tao   hates  ane  anithor. 


WEED  A  VIE.  37 

Na,  na,  that's  the  deevil's  wark,  and  no  God's  !     Noo, 

it  strikes  me  that  maybe  it's  wi1  the  kirk  as  wi'  this 

house  :  ye' re  working  on  ae  side  and  me  on  the  t'ii 

but  if  we  only  do  our  wark  wecl,  we  will    i 

tap  at  last.     Gie's  your  hair,  auld  neigbl  \ud 

so  they  shook  han's,  and  were  the  best  <>' 

after." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Armstrong,  for  the  *  said 

Dr.  M'Gavin.     Then  looking  to  the  bed,  he  remarl 
"Oh,  if  we  were  only  simple,  true   and  loving, 
little  children,  would  we  not,  like  that  dear  one,  enter 
the  kingdom  of  heaven,  and    know  and   love  all  who 
were  in  it,  or  on  their  way  to  i 

"  I'm  glad  1  have  met  you,  sir,"  1  the  old 

Elder.     "  It  does  ane's  heart  good  to  meet  a 
who  has  been  a  stranger.     But  if  il   hadna  been  for 
his  death,  we  might  never  have  met.      Isna  that  qu< 
God's  ways  are  no  our  wa\ 

"'  God  brings  life  to  our  hearts  out  of  death,"  replied 
the  Dr.,    "and  in   many  ways  does  lie  ordain  pr 
from  babes  and  sucklings,  whether  living  or  di 

And  thus  a  quiet  chat,  full  of  genial  Christian 
fulness,  was  kept  up  fo$  a  time  round  the  ' 
There  was  light  in  that  dw<  ion, 

for  there  was  love — love  intensified  by  sorrow . 
last  rays  of  evening  become  more  glorious  from  the 
very  clouds  that  gather  round  the  setting  sun. 

"With  your  p 
in,   "  I  •■ 


38  WEE       DAVIE. 

short  prayer  before  I  go."  He  selected  the  23d.  His 
only  remark,  as  he  closed  the  Bible,  was,  "  The  good 
Shepherd  has  been  pleased  to  take  this  dear  lamb  into 
His  fold,  never  more  to  leave  it." 

"And  may  the  lamb  be  the  means  of  making  the 
auld  .sheep  to  follow  !"  added  the  Elder. 

When  the  prayer  was  over,  Jeanie,  who  had  hardly 
spoken  a  word,  said,  without  looking  at  the  Dr.,  "  0 
sir  !  God  didna  hear  our  prayer  for  my  bairn." 

"  Dinna  speak  that  way,  Jeanie,  woman!"  said 
her  mother,  softly,  yet  firmly. 

' '  I  canna  help  it,  mither ;  I  maun  get  oot  my 
thochts  that  are  burning  at  my  heart.  The  minister 
maun  forgie  me,"  replied  Jeanie. 

"Surely,  Mrs.  Thorburn,"  said  the  Dr.;  "audit 
would.be  a  great  satisfaction  to  me  were  I  able,  from 
what  God  has  taught  myself  in  His  Word,  and  from 
my  own  experience  of  sorrow,  to  solve  any  difficulty, 
or  help  you  to  acquiesce  in  God's  dealings  with  you ; 
not  because  you  must,  but  because  you  ought  to  sub- 
mit; and  that  again,  not  because  God  has  power,  and 
therefore  does  what  He  pleases,  but  because  He  is 
love,  and  therefore  pleases  always  to  do  what  is 
right." 

"But,  Oh,  he  didna  hear  our  prayer:  that's  my 
burthen.  But  we  were  maybe  wraug  in  asking  what 
was  against  His  will." 

"  He  did  not  answer  you  in  the  way,  perhaps,  in 
which 'you   expected,    Mrs.  Thorburn  ;  yet,  depend 


WEE       DAVIE.  39 

upon  it,  every  true  prayer  is  heard  and  answered  by 
Him.  But  He  is  too  good,  too  wise,  too  loving,  to 
give  us  always  literally  what  Ave  ask  ;  if  so,  He  would 
often  be  very  cruel,  and  that  He  can  never  be  !  Son 
would  not  give  your  child  a  serpent,  if  in  his  ignoraj 
he  asked  one,  mistaking  it  for  a  fish  ?  nor  would  you 
give  him  a  stone  for  bread  ?" 

Jennie  was  silent. 

"When  Nathan,  the  Lord's  prophet,  telt  King 
David  that  his  child  must  die,"  said  the  Elder,  "yet 
nevertheless  David  even  then,  when  it  seemed  almost 
rebellion,  prayed  to  the  Lord  to  spare  his  life,  and  I 
dinna  doot  that  his  Father  in  heaven  was  pleased  wi' 
his  freedom  and  faith.  He  couldna  but  tak  kindly 
such  confidence  frae  his  distressed  servant." 

"I  am  sure/'  said  the  Dr.,  "  we  cannot  trust  Him 
too  much,  or  open  our  human  hearts  to  Mini  too 
freely.  But  let  us  "always  remember,  that  when  God 
refuses  what  we  ask,  lie  gives  as  something  else  far 
beetter,  yea,  and  does  far  more  than  we  can  ask  or 
think.  So  it  may  be  thus  with  regard  to  your  dead 
child.  If  Me  has  taken  him  away,  can  you,  for 
example,  tell  the  good  He  has  bestowed  thereby 
himself  or  others,  or  the  evil  and  misery  which  !!«• 
has  thereby  prevented?  Oh,  how  many  parents 
would  give  worlds  that  their  children  had  died  in 
infancy  ! ' 

"  We  are  ignorant  creatures!"  exclaimed  William. 

**  And  consider  further,  Mrs.  Thorburn,"  said  the 


40  WEE       DAVIE. 

Dr.,  "how  the  Apostle  Paul  prayed  the  Lord  thrice 
to  hare  a  thorn  in  the  flesh — a    w-  from 

Satan — removed.  But  the  Lord  did  not  hear  even 
his  prayer  in  his  way,  but  answered  it,  nevertheless, 
in  another  and  better  way,  when  lie  said,  '  My  grace 
is  sufficient  for  thee,  for  my  strength  is  perfected  in 
weakness.'''' 

"True,  minister,"  said  the  Elder,  "nor  did  He 
ever  say,    '  Seek  ye  my  face  in  vain.'  " 

"  And  as  regards  your  dear  child,  Mrs.  Thorburn," 
continued  the  Dr.,  touching  her  arm,  and  speaking 
with  great  earnestness,  "I  believe  sorrow's  crown  "of 
sorrow  to  a  Christian  parent,  and  the^heaviest  he  or 
she  can  endure  on  earth,  is  that  of  seeing  a  child, 
dearer  than  their  own  life,  living  and  dying  in  wick- 
edness !  What  was  David  s  sorrow  for  his  dead  babe, 
when  compared  with  that  wail  of  bitter  agony  for  his 
wicked  son,  '  Would  God  I  had  died  for  thee,  0 
Absalom,  my  son,  my  son !'  God  has  saved  yon  from 
that  agony.  He  has  done  so  by  taking  your  child  to 
Bimself.  Your  precious  jewel  is  not  lost,  but  is  in 
God's  treasury,  where  no  thief  can  break  through  and 
steal:  that  is  surely  something." 

"  Something  ! '  exclaimed  the  smith  ;  "  it  is  surely, 
after  all,  everything.     iVnd  yet " 

"  And  yet,"  said  Jeanie,  as  if  interpreting  the 
feeling  of  her  husband,  "  wi'  a'  these  thochts  about 
our  wee  bairn,  he's  an  aufu'  blank.  Ilka  thing  in  the 
world  seems  different. " 


WEE       DAVIE.  41 

"I'm  just   thinking,    Jeani    "    said    her   mother, 
"that  it's  a  comfort  ye   < ■■.  :   on  j). 

for  therVspuir  Mrs,  Blair  (John   Blair  a  blin 
ye  ken)  when  she  lost  her  callant,   May  waft  a  y< 
she  cam    to  me  in  an  awfu'    \  it,  and 

that  what  vexed  her  sae  muckle  was,  that  b! 
had    seen    his    wee    face,    and  could  only  touch 
han'le  him,  and  hear  him  greet,  but  never  get  a  look 
o    him.  ' 

"Puir    body,"  remarked    Jeanie,  "it    was   a  sair 

misfortun,  for  ony  mither  that!     Ilka   ane  has  their 

ain  burden  to  carry.     But,  minister,  let  me  speir  at 

you,  sir:  Will  I  never  see  my  bairn  again  ?  and  if  I 

him,  will  I  no  ken  him?" 

"  You  might  as  well  ask  me  whether  you  cou: 
and    know    your    child    if  he    had   gone  to  a  for. 
country  instead  of  to  heaven,"  replied  the  Dr.      "A 
for  Christian    love,    if  we    did   Dot  know  our  belo 
friends  in  heaveD  !     But  such  ignor 
in  that  home  of  light  and  love.''' 

"It  wadna  be  rational  to  think  go,"   remarked  Wil- 
liam.     "And  yet,    Dr.,"  he  continued,   '• 
for  just  saying,   though    I    would   ral  than 

speak,  that  the  knowledge  of  the  lost,  if  such  km  i 
there  can  be,  must  be  terrible." 

••  ■  kno*  not  how  that  will  be."  replied    the   I>r., 
''though  1  have   my   own    view*  on  it. 

our   iruonmee    of  any  person    being;  .aid    be 


42  W    BE       IU  V  1  E   , 

dearly  purchased  by  our  ignorance  of  any  person 
being  saved  ? ' 

"  I  did  not  think  of  that.'1'  said  the  smith. 

"But,"  continued  Jeanie,  with  quiet  earnestness, 
"will  our  bairn  aye  be  a  bairn,  Dr.?     Oh,  I  hope 


BO 


?» 


"  Dinna  try,  Jeanie  dear,"  said  David,  "to  be 
wise  aboon  what  is  written." 

The  Dr.  smiled,  and  asked, — "  If  your  child  had 
lived,  think  you,  would  you  have  rejoiced  had  he  always 
continued  to  be  a  child,  and  never  grown  or  advanced? 
and  are  you  a  loss  or  a  gain  to  your  father  and  mother, 
because  you  are  grown  in  mind  and  knowledge  since 
you  were  an  infant  ?  ' 

"I  never  thocht  o'  that  either,"  said  Jeanie,  thought- 
fully. 

"  Be  assured,"  continued  the  minister,  "  there  will 
be  no  such  imperfect  and  incomplete  beings  there  as 
infants  in  intellect  and  in  sense  for  ever.  All  will  be 
perfect  and  complete,  according  to  the  plan  of  God, 
who  made  us  for  fellowship  with  Himself  and  with  all 
His  blissful  family.  Your  darling  has  gone  to  a  noble 
school,  and  will  be  taught  and  trained  there  for  im_ 
mortality,  by  Him  who  was  Himself  a  child,  who 
spoke  as  a  child,  reasoned  as  a  child,  and  as  a  child 
'grew  in  wisdom  and  in  stature  ;'  and  who  also. sym- 
pathised with  a  mother's  love  and  a  mother's  sorrow. 
You  too,  parents,  if  you  believe  in  Christ,  and  hold 
fast  your  confidence   in   Him  ,•  and  become  to  Him  as 


W   E  E       DAT] 

little  children,  will  be  made  fit  to  enter  the 
same  society;  and  though  you  and  your  boy,  th< 
never,  perhaps,  forgetting  your  old  relationship  on 
earth,  will  be  fit  companions  for  one  another,  for  ever 
and  for  ever.  Depend  upon  it,  you  will  both  know 
and  love  each  other  there  better  than  you  ever  could 
possibly  have  done  here." 

"  My  wee  pet/'  murmured  Jeanic,  as  the  tears 
began  to  flow  from  a  softened,  because  happier, 
heart. 

William  hid  his  face  in  his  hands.  After  a  while, 
he  broke  silence,  and  said,  "  These  thoughts  of  heaven 
are  new  to  me.  But  common  sen-''  fill-  me 
maun  be  true.  Heaven  does  not  seem  to  me  noo  to  be 
the  same  place  it  used  to  be.  My  Loss  is  not  so  eom- 
♦  plete  as  I  once  thought  it  was.  Neither  we  nor  our 
baun  have  lived  in  vain." 

"  Surely  not,"  said  the  Dr.; 

'"Bettor  to  have  loved  and  lost, 
Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all  !' 

You  have   contributed  one  citizen    to   the  heaT 
Jerusalem:  one  member  to  the   family  abov< 
happy  spirit  to  add  his  voice  to  the  anthem  b 
throne  of  God.'* 

Cc  Lord,  help  our  unbelief  P*  said   Mr.   Armstroi 
"forthemair  I  think  o'  the  things  which  1 
the  mair  they  seem  to  me  own 

"The  disciples,  when  thej  w  Christ  after  His 


44  WEE      DAVIE. 

resurrection,"    said   the  "did   not   believe 

frou; 

"We  think  owre  muckle  o'  our  aim  folk,  Dr.,  and 
owre  little  o'  liim,''  remarked  the  Elder.      "But  it's 

imfort  that  lie's  kent  and  loved. as  He  ought  to  be 
by  them  in  heaven.  I  thank  Him,  .alang  wi'  them 
that's  awa\  for  all  ile  is  and  gies  to  them  noo  in  His 
presence." 

"And  for  all  He  is  and  does,  and  will  ever  be  and 
do  to  every  man  who  trusts  Him/'  added  the  Dr  ; 
"our  friends  would  be  grieved,  if  grief  were  possible 
to  them  now,  did  they  think  our  memory  of  them  made 
us  forget  Him,  or  that  our  love  to  them  made  us  love 
II im  less.  Surely,  if  they  know  what  we  are  doing, 
they  would  rejoice  if  they  knew  that,  along  with  them- 
selves, we  too  rejoiced  in  their  God  and  our  God. 
What  child  in  heaven  but  would  be  glad  to  know  that 
its  parents  joined  with  it  every  day  in  offering  up, 
through  the  same  Spirit,  the  same  prayer  of  '  Our  !'  " 

"  If  Wee  Davie  could  preach  to  us,  I  daresay,  sir, 
that  micht  be  his  text,"  said  the  Elder. 

"  Though  dead,  he  yet  speaketh,"  replied  the  min- 
ister. 

The  Dr.  rose  to  depart.  "  By  the  by,"  he  said, 
"  let  me  repeat  a  verse  or  two  to  you,  Thorturn.  which 
I  am  sure  you  will  like.  They  express  the  thoughts 
of  a  parent  about  his  dead  girl,  which  have  already 
in  part  been  poorly  expressed  by  me  when  your  wife 
asked  me  if  she  would  know  her  bov  :  — 


n 


I>   A    ?   I   K   .  *5 


'She  la  not  dead— the  child  of  our  nffec; 
But  gone   into   that   school 
"Whore  she  no  longer  needs  onr  poor  protection, 
And   C'nriat   himself   doth   rule. 

Not  as  a  child  shall  we  again   behold  her; 

For  when   with   raptures  wild 
In   our  embinres   We   again   enfold  ber, 

She  will   not  bo  a  child  ; 

But   a  fair  maiden,   in  her  Father's  mansion 

Clothed  with    celestial   erare, 
And  beautiful   with   all  the  poul's  expansion 

Shall  we  behold  her  face.0' 

"Thank  ye,  sir,  thank  ye,"  said Thorburn ;  Ci  and 

yc'll  no  be  offended  if  I  ax  ye  to  gie  me  a  grip  o'  yer 
han'."  And  the  smith  laid  hold  of  the  Doctor's 
proffered  hand,  so  small  and  white,  with  his  own  hand, 
so  large  and  powerful, — "  God  reward  ye,  sir,  for  we 
canna!  And  noo,  minister,"  the  smith  continued, 
"  I  maun  oot  wi't !  Since  ye  hae  been  so  kind  ae 
US  that  fine  bit  o1  English  poetry,  I  canna  help  gieing 
you  a  bit  o'  Scotch,  for  Scotch  poetry  has  been  a 
favorite  reading  o'  mine,  and  there's  a  verse  that  has 
been  dirling  a'  day  in  my  heart.      This  is  it : — 

'It's   dowie   at  the  hint,  o'   hn'ret, 

At  the  wa'-gan*  o'   the  swallow, 
When  the  v 
And   the  burns   ru 

And   the  wudu  an  >w  ; 

But    Oh  I    it's   d'nv 
The  gunge  wi', 

i  tet   o'  a  Bhinii  ::  i  '••, 
That  eloees  the  weary  warld  on  tlicel' 


46  W  E  E       D  A  V  I   V.   . 

Fareweel,  sir!  I'll  expect  ye  the  morn  "at  two,  if 
convenient,"  the  smith  whispered  to  the  Dr.,  as  he 
opened  the  door  to  him. 

"I'll  be  sure  to  come,"  he  replied.  "Thank  you 
for  those  verses  ;  and  think  for  your  good  about  all  I 
have  said." 

That  evening,  after  Dr.  M'Gravin's  visit,  there  was 
a  comfortable  tea  prepared  by  Jeanie  for  her  friends' 
and  the  Corporal  was  one  of  the  party. 

There  is  a  merciful  reaction  to  strong  feeling.  The 
highest  waves;  when  they  dash  against  the  rock,  flow 
furthest  back,  and  scatter  themselves  in  their  rebound 
into  sparkling  foam  and  airy  bubbles. 

The  Corporal  told  some  of  his  old  stories  of  weari- 
ness and  famine,  of  wounds  and  sufferings,  of  marches 
and  retreats,  of  battles  and  victories,  over  the  fields 
of  Spain.  Old  Armstrong  could  match  these  only  by 
Covenanter  tale's,  of  fights  long  ago,  from  the  Scots 
Worthies,  but  was  astonished  to  find  the  Corporal  a 
staunch  Episcopalian,  who  had  no  sympathy  with 
rebels.  Yet  so  kind  and  courteous  was  the  pensioner, 
that  the  Elder  confessed  that  he  was  "a  reel  fine 
boddie,  without  a  grain  o'  bigotry."  Jeanie  and  her 
mother  spoke  of  the  farm,  of  the  cows,  and  of  old 
friends  among  the  servants,  with  many  bygone  remi- 
niscences. And  thus'thc  weight  of  their  spirits  was 
lightenedj  although  ever  and  anon  there  came  one 
little  presence  before  them,  causing  a  sinking  of  the 
heart ! 


WEED  A  VIE.  47 

No  sooner  had  their  friends   left  the   house  for    fibfe 
night,  than  the  smith  did  what  he  never   did   before. 
He  opened  the  Bible,  and  said  to  Jeanie,  "I  will  r 
a   chapter   aloud    before  we   retire   to  rest."     Je; 
clapped  her  husband  fondly  on   the   shoulder,  and  in 
silence  sat  down  beside  him  while  he  read  again  some 
of  the  same   passages    which   they  had  already  he 
Few  houses  had    that  night  more  quiet  and    peace- 
ful keepers. 

The  little  black  coffin  was  brought  to  the  Bmith's 
the  night  before  the  funeral.  When  the  house 
was  quiet.  Davie  was  laid  in  it  gently  by  his  father. 
Jeanie  assumed  the  duty  of  arranging  with  care 
the  white  garments  in  which  her  boy  was  dre 
Wrapping  them  round  him,  and  adjusting  the  head 
as  if  to  sleep  in  her  own  bosom.  She  brushed 
once  more  the  golden  ringlets,  and  put  the  little 
hands  across  the  breast,  and  opened  out  the  frills 
in  the  cap,  and  removed  every  particle  of  sawdust 
which  soiled  the  shroud.  "When  all  was  finished, 
though  she  seemed  anxious  to  prolong  the  work, 
the  lid  was  put  on  the  coffin,  yet  so  as  to  1 
the  face  uncovered.  Both  were  as  silent  as  their 
child.  But  ere  they  retired  to  rest  for  th 
they  instinctively  w«nt  to  take  another  look. 

zed  in  silence)  Bide    1 ; 
smith  felt  his  hand  gently  seized  by  hie   wi  i 
played    at    first    nervously    with     the    fy.  Until 

finding   her    own    hand    held    by    her    husband. 


48  WEE       DAVIE. 

looked  into  his  face  with  an  unutterable  expres- 
sion, and  meeting  his  eyes,  so  full  of  unobtrusive 
sorrow,  leant  her  head  on  his  shoulder  and  said, 
"Willie,  this  is  my  last  look  o'  him  on  this  side 
o'  the  grave.  But,  Willie  dear,  you  and  me 
maun  see  him  again,  and,  mind  ye,  no  to  part;— 
na,  I  canna  thole  that !  We  ken  whaur  he  isj  aud 
we  maun  gang  till  him.  Noo,  promise  me  !  vow 
alang  wi'  me  here,  as  we  love  him  and  ane 
another,  that  we'll  attend  mair  to  what's  glide 
than  we  hae  dune,  that — 0  Willie,  Forgive  me, 
for  it's  no  my  pairt  to  speak,  but  I  canna  help 
it  noo,  and  just,  my*  bonnie- man,  just  agree  wi' 
me — that  we'll  gie  our  hearts  forever  to  our  ain 
Saviour,  and  th^  Saviour  o'  our  Wee  Davie!" 

These  words,  as  she  rested  her  throbbing  head 
on  her  husband's  shoulder,  were  uttered  in  low, 
broken  accents,  half-choked  with  an  inward  strug- 
gle, but  without  a  tear.  She  was  encouraged  to 
say  all  this — for  she  had  a  timid  awe  of  her 
husband — by  the  pressure  ever  and  anon  returned 
to  her  hand  from  his.  The  smith  spoke  not,  but 
bent  his  head  over  his  wife,  who  felt  his  tears 
falling  on  her  neck,  as  he  whispered,  "  amen, 
Jeanie !  so  help  me  God!"    • 

A  silence  ensued,  during  which.  Jeanie  got,  as 
she  said,  "  a  gude  ^reet,^  for  the  first  time, 
which  took  a  weight  off  her  heart.  She  then 
quietly  kicked  her  child  and  turned  away.     Thor- 


W   E  E       D  A   V  I  E  .  49 

burn  took  the  hand  of  his  boy  and  said,  "  jfai 
my  Wee  Davie,  and  when  you  and  me  meet  again, 
we'll  bait! i,  I  tak  it,  be  a  bit  different  frae  what  we 
are  this  nicht ! "  He  then  put  the  lid  mechanically 
on  the  coffin,  turned  one  or  two  of  the  screws,  and 
s;;t  dpwn  at  the  fireside  to  speak  about  the  arrange- 
ments of  the  funeral. 

After  that,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  William 
asked  his  wife  to  kneel  down,  and  join  with  Mm  in 
prayer  before  they  retired  to  rest.  Poor  fellow  !  he 
was  sincere  as"  ever  man  was,  and  never  after  till  the 
day  of  his  deatli  did  he  omit  this  ''exercise,"  which 
was  once  almost  universal  in  every  family  in  Scotland, 
whose  "head"  was  a  member  of  the  church;  and 
w»s  even  continued  by  the  widow  when  the  "head" 
was  taken  away  by  death.  But  on  this,  the  first 
time,  when  the  smith  tried  to  utter  aloud  the  thoughts 
of  his  heart,  ho  could  only  say,  "Our  Father — !': 
There  he  stopped.  Something  seemed  to  seize  him, 
and  to  repress  his  utterance.  Had  he'only  more  fully 
known  how  much  was  in  these  words,  he  possibly 
might  have  gone  <Jb.  As  it  was,  the  thoughts  of  the 
father  on  earth  so  mingled,  he  knew  not  how.  with 
those  of  the  Father  in  heaven,  that  he  could  no 
But  lit'  continued  on   his    knees,  a:  ke    there    to 

God  in   his  heart,  as    he    i  fore. 

Jeanie  did  the   sami         !  -while  they  both    rose, 

Jean ie  said,   "  thank  ye,  "Willie.     It's  tuti- 

ful  begining  if  will,  I'm  sure,  bae  a   braw   • 


50  W  E  K   '.  D  A  V  I  E  . 

ing."     t(  It's  cauld  iron,  Jeanie,  wonian,"    said  the 

smith,    "but  it  wnll  heat  and  <  *       hi  yet.'' 

The  day  of  the  funeral  was    a    day  of    beauty  and 
sunshine.      A   few   fellow>tradi 

cabled  in   the   hou*  in   their  Sund; 

.  though  it  was  visible  in  the  case  of   cue  or  two, 
at  least,  that  their  1  rorse  of   the  wear. 

The  last  of  his    |  ions    a    Scotch    workman   will 

part i  with ,m  even  to  keep  his  family  in  food,  are  his 
Sunday  clothes  ;  and  the  last  duty  he  will  fail  to  per- 
forin, is  that  of  following  the  body  of  a  neighbor  to 
the  gra  \ 

All   those    who    attended    the  funeral,    and    about  ' 
twenty  assembled,  had  crape  on  their  hats  and  wee] 
on  their  coats.     The  Corporal  had,  also,  a  War-medal 
on  his  breast      The   smith,  according   to  custom,  sat 
near  the  door,  and  shook  cadi  man  by  the  hand  as  he 
entered.    .Not  a  word  was  spoken. 

When  all  who   were  expected  hi  mbled,  the 

Dr.,  who  occupied  a  chair  near  the  table  on  which  the 
Bible  lay,  opened  the  book,  and  read  a  portion  of  the 
fifteenth  chapter  of  the  -First  Epistle  to  the  Corin- 
thians, without  any  comment.  He  then  prayed  with 
a  fervor  and  suitableness  which   touched    every  heart. 

The  little  coffin  was    brought    out.    '  It    was    easily 

carried.     The  Corporal  was  the  first  to  step  forward. 

He  saluted  the  smith  by  puttin  md  to   his  hat, 

soldier   fashion,    and   begged    to    have   the   honor  0/ 

isting. 


.  ' 


,W  E  E      D  A   v  i   i:  .  51 

Slowly  the  small  pre  aneed    towards   the 

churchyard,  about  half-a-niile  off;  and  angels  In-held 
that  wondrous  sight  '  —  wondrous   as 

a  symbol  of  sin,  and  of  redemption,  too.     It  at  once 
speaks  of  the  in  human   being  as  a 

mere  creature,  and   of    his   dignity  as   belonging   to 
Christ  J<  sus. 

As  they  v  ;rave,  the  birds  were  singing", 

and  building  their  nests  in  the  budding  trees.     A  flood 
of  lij  in  glor^  ring  range  of  hills. 

Overhead,  the  sky    had   only    one   small,  snow-white 
cloud  reposing  in  peace  on  its  azure  blue 

Whenth  a  hadfinished  tin  .  and  smooth- 

ed  it   down,  William    quietly  seized    the    spade,  and 
it  carefully  over  the  in    with   gentle 

beats,  remo  h  his  hand  the    small    stones   and 

gravel  whicl  1  its  surface.     Those  who  stood 

very   near,  had   they   narrowly  watched  him,   which 

■  much  feeling  I  light  have  obsei 

the  smitl  culiar,  I  ure  and  (lap  on 

the  grave  with  his  hand,  as  if  on  a  child's  t,  ere 

'i  turned  thi  with  a   cai  ir,  said, 

"  h  aoo."       Then 

lifting  up  hi  round,  he  added 

obleege  I  to  ble  in  comii 

And  so  thet  and 

more  enduring  I 


52 

man,  as 

young  clergyman  wl 

could  be 

meut  of    Chris 

"  effort, "  or    " 

which  would  carry  Dr. 

. 
lived  as  long  in  will. 

learn  |jo\v  true  it  is,  I  fulfils  Himself  in  many 

s.'     He  is  in  the  still,  small   v  ften 

when  He  is  neither  in  I  nor  in  the  hur- 

ricane.    One  of  the  r  had— 

and  whose  admirabl  ,  and  well- 

doing,   prosper'  of    my. 

church,  and  my  mi;  -told    me    on 

his dying  bed,  that,  under  1    Ins   chief 

good  to  the  dentil  i  . 

tch   accidentally  with    ! 

On  the  fast  evi 
many  things  w)  -  ho 

I  to  me,    "  hat,  avie 

that  did  it  a' !  " 

T  II  E      END. 


